


now go when you’re ready

by zenstrike



Series: you’re lucky that’s what i like [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Developing Relationship, First Love, Fluff, Keith & Shiro (Voltron) are Siblings, Keith is smitten, M/M, Romance, klance roommates, they’re doing their best okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-06 16:09:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15198446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zenstrike/pseuds/zenstrike
Summary: Keith and Lance go on their first date.





	now go when you’re ready

    The snow was already up to their ankles. The bottom of Lance’s jeans were wet and cold. He hunched in his seat, squinting at the melting snow on his sneakers. His fingers were tingling as they warmed, shoved in his coat pockets, and he thought wistfully of his extra sweater, discarded at the last minute.

    Keith wasn’t even shivering. He leaned back in his seat, his arms folded and eyes trained forward.

    The bus rumbled.

    Lance eyed Keith out of the corner of his eye and tapped his feet to dislodge some of the snow.

    “What?” Keith asked. He shifted in his seat.

    Lance huffed and tried to peer out the fogged window. It was already getting dark.

    “Nothing,” he said. He twitched his fingers in his pockets and tucked his elbows tighter against his sides.

    Quiet, then Keith said: “Cold?”

    It took Lance a second to realize Keith was _asking_ , not simply _observing_. He looked back at Keith and regretted it almost immediately.

    Keith blinked, looking right back.

    “A bit,” Lance admitted.

    Keith tilted his head. His hair shifted. Lance hated that he knew what his hair smelt like, what Keith looked like when he rolled out of bed in the morning—that Keith knew what Lance looked like when he rolled out of bed on Wednesdays, cursing his Physics lab. On top of that: Lance now knew what it felt like when Keith ran his fingers through his hair, or what it felt like when Keith kissed him.

    He swallowed. His heart pounded. His face heated.

    Ugh, Lance thought.

    He pulled his hands from his pockets and tapped his fingers against his knees.

    Keith blinked again, then looked forward.

    He had a nice nose, Keith. And soft lips, which Lance would have thought was impossible given that he’d never seen the guy with anything _resembling_ chapstick. He wasn’t wearing gloves, either, not even the stupid fingerless ones he sometimes unironically wore.

    Keith unfolded his arms with a sigh. Lance tucked his elbows tighter against his body, suddenly afraid of invading Keith’s space. He stretched out his legs, tucking his feet under the seat in front of them, and dug his fingers into his knees.

    Without looking back, Keith reached over and took one of Lance’s twitching, thawing hands and pried it from his knee. He twisted their fingers together and swiped his thumb over Lance’s knuckles once.   

    Lance watched it happen and managed not to die.

    “Don’t freak out,” Keith said, warningly, like Lance suddenly had a reputation for flipping his shit when Keith casually touched him.

    Keith, Lance knew, was not a casual guy.

    His cheeks burned.

    “I’m not freaking out,” Lance managed.

    “Good,” Keith said. Lance could hear the sigh under his voice. “It’ll be a long date if you do.”

    “That’s the good thing about movies,” Lance said. “No talking. Ergo, no freaking out.”

    He looked up from their hands in time to see Keith’s mouth twitch.

 

* * *

 

 

    Lance didn’t always freak out.

    Like, when Keith asked him over the weekend: “How’s Tuesday?”

    And Lance had said: “Huh?”

    And Keith had leaned down to replace Red’s water and Lance hadn’t been able to look away and Keith had said: “For our date. We can go see a movie.”   

    And Lance’s mouth had gone dry but he had managed to reply, cool as a cucumber: “Sounds good.”

    And then Keith had looked at him—straight on looked at him—and said: “Don’t worry. We’ll get you back early.”

    And Lance had realized that he had forgotten completely about his eight-freaking-AM Wednesday lab but Keith had not.

    Then there was earlier today when Keith had caught Lance on his way to grab dinner and they had almost bumped into each other going in-and-out of their room.

    “Keith!” Lance had greeted.

    And Keith had smiled and said: “I brought you something.”

    And given him freaking hot chocolate with real freaking milk and whipped cream that was still warm despite the stupid cold outside and Lance had been so excited he forgot to be touched about it until Hunk had the audacity to mention it.

    Anyways, Lance didn’t always freak out.

* * *

 

    They held hands—or maybe Keith held Lance’s hand and Lance managed not to explode—the rest of the way. Lance’s attempts at small talk ended with them agreeing that the weather was, in fact, shit and midterms had, indeed, murdered something innocent and pure inside both of them. When the bus pulled to their stop, Keith let go and they both stood and shoved their hands in their jacket pockets.

    Because it was cold.

    It wasn’t windy anymore but there was snow falling lightly around them and catching in Keith’s hair as they walked through a parking lot, side-by-side. Occasionally, their elbows or shoulders brushed and Lance wondered if Keith was doing that on purpose so he started trying to do it on purpose and just barely managed not to jab Keith in the ribs.

    “It’s too cold,” Lance grumbled when they stepped through the mall’s sliding doors. “Like. Really.”

    “It’s going to get colder,” Keith promised, because he was nothing if not a ray of sunshine.

    Lance rolled his eyes. “Thanks.”

    Keith hummed. They stepped around a dirty pile of melted-snow muck and stepped up to a colourful map of the mall together.

    This time, Lance was pretty sure Keith was standing close on purpose. And that—felt pretty good.

    Like warmth. Like hot chocolate on a cold day. Like the fact that he could count on seeing Keith’s smile at least once a day, lately, even if that smile was regularly directed at Red.

    Lance understood; she was a good hamster.

    “This way,” Keith said, and led the way through what could pass for a weekday evening crowd.

* * *

 

    In the seventh grade, Lance went to the movies with Jenny Slater and apparently got “too into” the movie they saw and not “enough into” Jenny herself. They had still gone to the winter dance together so that had been fine.

    In the ninth grade, Lance had what Marco and Hunk called his “Great Bisexual Crisis” in the form of one James Sanchez from his swim team and they had gone on three dates. The third had been to a movie and the movie had sucked and James had tried to sneak his hand up Lance’s shirt out of sheer boredom and neither of them had liked that very much so that had been that.

    In the eleventh grade, Lance’s first and only proper girlfriend invited him to see a horror movie and they had clung to each other and shrieked and that had been great. Breaking up early in the next year because Alicia Lee was afraid of being Turkey Dumped had not been great but that’s how it goes sometimes and Lance had simultaneously mourned his adolescent relationship and celebrated his university acceptance by eating three pizzas with his brother and best friend.

    In his first year of university, Lance’s first date with his sometimes insufferable but often handsome roommate was on a November Tuesday because tickets were half-price and neither of them had class.

* * *

 

    The theater wasn’t actually that busy but the concession line was massive.

    “We could skip popcorn,” Keith had suggested as he eyed the showtimes above the box office booth.

    “No,” Lance had replied simply.

    So Keith had gone to get tickets and Lance had darted for the concession.

    (“Wait—what do you want to see!”)

    In another situation, Lance might have snuck a few (semi-longing) glances in Keith’s direction while he waited, just to see if maybe-just-maybe Keith was thinking about him and looking at him, too. Except that Lance took movie popcorn very seriously and he was having a hard time deciding between a “regular” and a “large.”

    (Keith looked at him across the sticky lobby. It was too bad Lance missed that.)

    Lance was nearly to the front of the line when Keith joined him, clutching two tickets and the receipt while he scowled up at the concession menu.

    “What are you getting?” Keith asked and Lance automatically leaned towards him.

    “Popcorn,” Lance said, and then decided: “A big one.”

    “A big one,” Keith echoed.

    “You know. The large.” Lance ignored Keith’s huff of laughter and tapped his chin. “Maybe chocolate.”

    “Chocolate,” Keith said, sounding thoughtful.

    “Are you allowed to eat candy?”

    Keith balked. Lance shrugged and hunched in on himself. “You know. You’re an athlete.”

    They stared at each other. Keith blinked.

    “Lance,” he said. “Who and what do you think is going to keep me from eating candy?”

    “Uh,” Lance said. “Your steely resolve?”

    “No,” Keith replied.

* * *

 

 

    Keith had picked a cartoon.

    “It’s an animated movie,” Keith grumbled, shaking his box of caramel chocolates experimentally.

    “Don’t get me wrong,” Lance said as they walked towards the auditorium. “I love a good cartoon. I just didn’t think that’s what you would pick.”

    “You should have helped me decide, then.”

    “Keith. You and I both know I am here for one thing and one thing only.” He gestured to the massive bag of popcorn in the crook of his arm.

    They reached the doors to Auditorium 8 and the name of the movie blinked down at them. Together, they paused, considering it.

    “Does it have good ratings?” Lance asked. “Or reviews? Or whatever.”

    “I don’t know,” Keith replied and unceremoniously shoved the box of chocolates into Lance’s jacket pocket. “Go find a spot. I’ll be right back.”

    “What?”

    Keith was already gone, stalking along the carpeted hallway like the mulleted menace he was. Lance watched him go until he turned the corner.

    Shifting his hold on the bag, Lance took a big whiff of his popcorn and stepped into the auditorium. The pre-movie ads were loud and bright and Lance was glad to turn his back on the screen. Row on row of empty seats stared back at him.

    “Well, then,” Lance said to no one.

* * *

 

    (At the concession stand, Lance had oggled the too-blue colour of the slushie machine behind the cash register.

    “That’s too much sugar,” Lance had said out loud, tapping his chin.

    “It’ll wash down the popcorn,” Keith had offered.

    “Maybe,” Lance had said, like he wasn’t really listening.

    He looked downright wistful.)

 

* * *

 

    (“What do you say on a date?” Keith had grumbled to Shiro, and then scowled at the sigh his brother heaved.

    “Keith,” Shiro had said. “It’s two in the morning. Google it. Please.”)

* * *

 

 

    Keith returned at the end of a preposterously long ad about a phone camera. Or maybe it was just a camera. Lance wasn’t actually sure. In any case, Keith came back and he came back with two drinks.

    Lance tore his eyes away from the screen to wave at Keith. “Nobody’s here,” he said. He had his feet propped up on the empty seat in front of him, cradling the popcorn between his thighs and stomach. It was the perfect height for popcorn grabbing.

    Keith eyed the screen as he stepped into the row. Lance heard his boots stick to something on the floor and they both grimaced.

    Keith didn’t sit. He set each of the drinks in a cupholder and then stretched his arms over his head as he studied the empty auditorium.

    Lance looked down at the cup closest to him. He thought: this is a lot of garbage. “I checked the front, too. Nobody, Keith!” He prodded at the cup. “You must have picked something weird.”

    “Maybe,” Keith said.

    Lance squinted at the straw. “What’s this?”

    “Neon Blue Raspberry,” Keith said, his tone dry.

    Lance looked at him. Keith shoved his hands in his pockets, still standing. Like he was uncomfortable. Or nervous.

    Lance blushed.

    “The line was better,” Keith said, looking down at him and frowning. “I think someone came off a break or something.” He paused. “That’s for you.”

    “Oh,” Lance said.

    “It’ll help wash down the popcorn,” Keith said lamely.

    “Oh,” Lance said again. “Thanks.”

    “You’re welcome.”

    Another ad roared to a close on the screen. A trivia question popped up. Lance forgot how to read, or think. Keith still didn’t sit down.

    Lance looked around the auditorium again, to give himself something to do. He felt suddenly self-conscious, folded up in his seat with his knees almost at the same height as his chin and the popcorn conspicuously less full than it had been when Keith left. “Wow,” Lance said. “It’s really dead in here. You must be the only person who wants to see this.”

    Keith coughed—or, cleared his throat. “I don’t,” he said. “Want to see it. I just—“ He broke off.

    Lance looked back at him so fast he felt something creak in his neck. Keith looked vaguely—flustered. Lance wanted to revel in it. He wanted to tease Keith, or say something in his best “I’m-a-grump” voice like: _don’t get flustered, Keith_.

    Instead, his blush grew warmer. He thought he was sweating, just a bit.

    “I just needed to pick something,” Keith said then, rocking slightly on his feet. “You should have just come and picked with me.”

    “Maybe,” Lance managed out.

    Keith took his hands out of his pockets, finally, and unzipped his coat. He looked around them again.

    He was a little pink.

    “There’s really nobody else here?” he asked.

    “Nope,” Lance replied, aiming for ease and almost reaching it. “I checked.”

    Keith tossed his coat on the back of the chair next to Lance.

    “I thought maybe someone might be making out with, uh, somebody else in the corners or something,” Lance said, hitting this side of rambling. “Nope. Just us and your bad decision making.”

    Keith looked good in his sweater and jeans, with his hair just slightly rumpled from the day and the weather and the melted snow, and standing so Lance had to just look at him, feeling helpless and stuck and warm.

    Someone on the screen congratulated them on a job well done: _your movie knowledge is impressive, movie-goers!_

    “It’s okay, though!” Lance’s mouth was running away with his voice now. “It’s been a while since I saw a movie about snakes. Well, at least since the summer. Do documentaries count as movies?” He took a popcorn kernel and popped it in his mouth, chewing it for too long.

    “I think so,” Keith said, and tugged at his sleeves. Lance grabbed another kernel to keep himself from babbling and Keith squinted. “Are you—are you eating that one thing at a time?”

    Lance froze, and then scowled. “First of all,” he said. “It’s not like this is the weirdest thing you’ve ever seen me do.”

    “Wow.”

    “Secondly!” He picked up another kernel and held it up between his index finger and thumb. “This is the best way to appreciate each kernel. They each deserve love, Keith!”

Even with the light flush to his cheeks, Keith seemed serious and calculating as he looked at Lance. He wasn’t fidgeting now. He seemed still, maybe the closest to relaxed Keith got. Lance had the sudden thought that he’d like to see Keith play volleyball sometime: maybe this was the face he made while he did whatever it was volleyball players do.

    “Are you going to sit down?” Lance asked, instead of: _can I watch you hit a ball sometime_? He let the kernel fall back into the bag.

    “Yeah,” Keith replied, but instead of sitting down like a real person he leaned in and braced himself against the back of Lance’s seat with one arm.

    Lance thought: _oh_.

    “Lance,” Keith said, sounding so serious Lance thought he was going to laugh from sheer panic.

    “Yeah?” Lance managed out. If he twitched, their noses would touch, Keith was leaning that close. It wasn’t as if this was the first time, but each time Keith got close enough to threaten a kiss Lance was a little bit more sure he was going to explode.

    Just.   

    Bam. Or whatever an explosion sounded like.

    “I really want this to go well,” Keith said.

    “Our date?”

    “Yeah.”

    “Oh,” Lance started. A cool prickle of relief started at the base of his neck and began spreading over his skin. “Me too.”

    Keith closed the distance between them and Lance had a split-second to wonder if the bend of his back hurt at all, and then he was reminded of the impossible softness of Keith’s lips and the startling catch of breath in his own chest when Keith came close to him.

    Just when Lance was sure he was going to melt into the kiss, Keith pulled back and dropped heavily into his seat.

    Lance gaped at him. He watched Keith prop his feet up as well, and he watched the light from the screen play against Keith’s features.

    “Do you want your chocolates?” Lance asked instead of just freaking _dying_.

    “Yes,” Keith said and held out a hand. Lance slapped the box into it. He watched Keith pull it open, strangely delicately, and then set the box between his knees. Good chocolate-grabbing height, Lance thought.

    An eternity later, the lights dimmed and the trailers started and Lance grabbed Keith’s hand before Keith could grab his, and they watched the stupid cartoon movie about snakes in silence, all alone in the auditorium. Like real adults, they shared their snacks.

* * *

 

    (“The point of a date,” Shiro had said around a yawn. “Is to spend time alone together. Right?”

    “Yeah,” Keith had said, hunched in the corner of the lounge’s comfiest (cleanest) couch.

    “It doesn’t really matter what you do, kiddo,” Shiro had continued. “As long as you do something.”)

* * *

    Lance had a headache from too much sugar and salt, but he also had a little leftover popcorn he could tempt Hunk with when they got back.

    They boarded the bus together in the darkness and Lance yawned, clutching the popcorn bag close to his chest. He followed Keith to the back row of the bus and ignored the flutter in his chest when Keith let him have the window seat (again). The movie had sucked, but they had held hands the whole time and Lance had realized he liked the way their feet looked side-by-side.

    “Sorry,” Keith said quietly, blinking at his phone. “It’s late.”

    “‘s fine,” Lance said, and yawned again. “Physics lab is a lot of dropping stuff anyways.”

    Keith grunted. The bus lurched and pulled away from the stop. Their shoulders brushed with the jostling. The popcorn bag crinkled.

    The bus had merged with what was left of Tuesday evening traffic when Keith shifted and slipped an arm around Lance and Lance leaned into him like he had been waiting for it. And maybe he had been.

    “That movie sucked,” Lance said and set his head on Keith’s shoulder.

    “Sorry,” Keith said, close to his ear.

    “Not a bad date, though.”

    “Yeah,” Keith agreed, and he sounded a little breathless. A pause. “Uh, Lance?”

    Lance felt his eyelids drooping. “Yeah?”

    “I may have asked for tickets to the least crowded movie.”

    Lance considered this. “And we didn’t even make out,” he said with a sigh.

    “...they didn’t tell me _no one_ had bought a ticket.”

    Lance smiled.

* * *

 

 

    “It went well?” Hunk said, eyeing him suspiciously as he accepted the crumpled bag of leftover popcorn. “And please tell me you paid for real butter.”

    “Dude,” Lance said by way of affirmation. He rubbed his eyes. “Yeah, it went well.”

    “Good,” Hunk said, leaning against his doorframe. They were speaking in hushed voices, trying not to wake the rest of the floor. Down the hall, Keith had disappeared into his and Lance’s room.

    “Yeah,” Lance said, and smiled. “Yeah. It was good.”

    Hunk opened the popcorn bag and shook it experimentally. “Okay, _so_...what now?”

    Lance blinked. His smile fell away. “What do you mean?”

    Hunk gestured down the hall. “I mean...you guys can’t really have a kiss goodnight and go on your merry ways, right? You live together.”

    Lance stared.

    “Oh boy,” Hunk sighed. “Alright. Goodnight, Lance.” With a shake of his head, he closed his door.

    Lance stared at his best friend’s name scribbled on the battered whiteboard hanging on the door and briefly considered breaking in and sleeping under Hunk’s bed.

    Woodenly, he turned and made his way back towards his and Keith’s room. All his sleepiness had vanished and he was sweating again, his face too warm— _gross_ , he thought; _just so gross._ It took too long, but eventually Lance forced himself to finishing taking his stuttered steps towards his own door.

    Keith was sitting cross-legged on his bed, reading. He was already changed into his sleep clothes—shorts and a baggy sweatshirt with tattered sleeves—and had his hair pulled back into a stubby ponytail. He looked up when Lance closed the door.

    Red was scurrying about her cage. Probably pooping.

    Keith was watching him, again, and Lance thought—just briefly—how nice it had been to doze on Keith’s shoulder on their way home, and how nice it had been to hold hands in the elevator up while Keith grimaced at the usual strange smells and Lance tried not to grin like a giddy idiot.

    “Are you freaking out?” Keith asked. He closed his book.

    And, somehow, that was all it took.

    “No,” Lance grumbled. “I’m going to bed.”

    Keith smiled and reopened his book.

 

* * *

 

 

    (“Does your roommate know?” Shiro had asked. “About this almost-boyfriend of yours?”

    Keith had considered that. “Kind of,” he had replied instead of outright lying.

“You’ll get along eventually,” Shiro had promised, his voice heavy with his drowsiness. “It’s always hard learning to live around each other, especially on top of coursework.”

“Yeah,” Keith had said.)

   

* * *

 

 

Lance was almost asleep a half an hour later when Keith flicked off the last of the lights and whispered across the room: “Goodnight, Lance.”

   

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I’d love any and all of feedback.
> 
> Next in the series in something tentatively titled: “five times klance made hunk say ‘ugh’”
> 
> Title comes from “Adore” by Amy Shark.


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